Dreaming a Reality
by tistrust
Summary: The mind is a tricky place. It can make one believe all sorts of things, from the wonderful to the terrible. It can make one see what isn't there, hear noises that don't exist, feel touches that never happened...
1. Chapter 1

Title: Dreaming a Reality

AN: Anyone still reading this?

Well, the last time I wrote a story for this fandom, I was 16 and now I'm almost 20. Meaning that my writing has grown considerably and that I don't want to be judged based on what my younger self accomplished. I've thought about deleting those stories, but I feel like they show me who I was back then. Anyways, going to stop rambling now.

SO, borrowed the Aurora Chair from Farscape, the title is from a song by Senses Fail but I just like the title, and umm...I think that's it.

/-/-/

He had felt that something had been off for a while now. He had the feeling before and he knew that he was being watched –stalked- by some unknown persons. There weren't many clues. Some swishes of dark cloaks around corners and glimpses of faces which disappeared in the next instant. But the thing that made him sure of it was that overall feeling that someone was watching him. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and an awkward aura of heaviness surrounded his every move.

Rebecca was visiting friends but she would be back tonight and had been specifically on leave for the next month. Verne was due to arrive soon for a visit and the telegram he received yesterday reported that he was doing well. Passepartout had not verbally offended anyone in months. There had been no dangerous missions of which he had helped out of late that could warrant such behavior. Nothing he had done lately which would have caused anyone to become vengeful which meant that the past had come back to haunt him.

He was also prepared for this, maybe paranoid and obsessively so but nevertheless prepared. He had kept a careful mental and written list of those who would ever want him deceased and he had gone over the list a few times now. He had been able to narrow down the possibilities and as time passed he had been able to eliminate many of those possibilities.

When he told Rebecca of his suspicions, she had done some prodding around but she had also come to the same conclusion as he had. With the life he had so far lived - and would continue to live - he had acquired a great deal of enemies who would all wish him great bodily, psychological, and emotional harm. Which was really no great help to him as of now.

After so much time trying to actively find out who was behind all of this, Phileas had come to the thought that there was nothing else that he could do. He kept a wary eye out for any strangers he met, he watched anyone that looked at him for a moment too long, but really the most he could do was to wait or leave on a trip. And leaving didn't seem like that great of an option. If he left, it meant that he was frightened. That he was afraid of this unknown being and there was no way that he would admit that. There was no challenge that he would turn from, and though this one was unspoken it still was a challenge.

So he would wait for his foe. This coward of a man who stuck to the shadows and when the time came, Phileas would be ready.

/-/-/

Jules arrived in England on a rare day when every once in a while the sun actually shined through the clouds. It was such a nice day and since it was only mid-afternoon he knew it would be no problem for him to walk to Saville Row. His meager belongings hardly put up an obstacle and it would certainly save him from worrying if he would have enough money for food when he got back to Pairs.

As always, most British citizens ignored him completely on principle so it made it easier for him to know if anyone was following or watching him. Still, he took care by sticking to the main streets and stayed aware of his surroundings. It didn't help that he was so tired. It wasn't just his exams that got to him but the whole month had as well.

He wasn't sure what was going to happen once he got to the townhouse. He knew he would have to explain himself, especially after one of his…visions. But he wasn't sure what was happening. Though his visions had always been random, they had never been disruptive nor had they ever left him so drained of energy and pained by headaches that even the barest glimpse of light would make him so nauseous that he would be sick enough as to try to throw up his stomach lining.

He was nervous about telling the Foggs, but he had promised to visit once in a while. Now that his summer holidays were here he had no excuses to use anymore, any writing that he could do in his garret he could also do in the Foggs' company. He had already visited his family during Christmas and wasn't expected for another two months.

There wasn't much to do about it, his friends at the university had all made plans and were traveling here and there. They had invited him along, of course, and he had agreed to go but when the visions started taking a turn for the worse, he decided that he shouldn't. He didn't want to burden them with his problems when they should be out having fun.

When Fogg heard that he wasn't planning on going abroad with his university friends, he insisted –demanded- that he come to England. He had tried to decline, but there was only so much fight one could put up against Fogg, Rebecca, and Passepartout combined.

Jules checked the street signs and knew that he was less than a block away. He smiled, even though he was anxious he was still glad that he would get the chance to see them. Things haven't felt the same since their last…adventure. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but he knew these headaches had to do with…what had happened.

/-/-/

AN: Seriously, please someone tell me if they're here. This fandom's been kind of dead lately. It's nice to know you're not alone…


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Merry Christmas! You can consider it a Christmas present but I was going to post it anyways. :D

/-/-/-/

"Jules! It's good to see you!"

Rebecca almost flung herself at him for an embrace. She knew it wasn't proper, but she had just been so worried about the young man. Jules smiled back at her, just as brightly and gripped her hand tightly before letting go and stepping into the foyer. Passepartout closed the door for him and clapped Jules into a half hug, whispering some greeting that Rebecca couldn't make out.

Phileas stood at the door to the parlor, waiting for his turn at a welcome. Jules and he shook hands heartily, the handshake lasting a little longer than necessary. But Rebecca couldn't blame them. After what happened, she didn't blame any of them for physical contact.

She couldn't get rid of the smile from her face but then again she didn't really want to. There were so little things she could truly smile about nowadays and it was good to have evidence that Jules was, at least for the moment, seemingly all right. Of course she couldn't make such a judgment based on nothing but the fact that Jules didn't walk with any noticeable problem or that all the cuts and bruises had faded away. There were still matters of the mind for her to concern herself with.

"How are you doing, Verne?" Phileas asked as Passepartout ushered them into the parlor. The valet quickly got a tray together and set it down on the coffee table. Passepartout stood behind Phileas's chair ready to be of service but a part of the conversation nonetheless.

"Ah," Jules sat down on the couch next to her, "I doing all right." He replied with a fleeting smile.

"You do not seem sure of your answer Jules." Rebecca noted dryly.

Jules didn't reply he just let the statement dangle and fester. She knew he didn't want to admit that there was anything wrong but he couldn't lie to them.

Jules hadn't talked about their last adventure much, and he had made it abundantly clear that he would much rather just forget the whole business. That wouldn't do at all, which was why they all had wanted Jules to come to England. If he had out right refused all of them then Phileas would have seen to it that they would go to Pairs. She knew Phileas was just as worried about Jules as she was but Phileas had other things to think about.

/-/-/-/

Passepartout locked up the house for the night and then did one last check around to ensure that all his security alarms were set. There was no room for him to be any less careful, more so now with Jules with them and Master Fogg's unknown stalker. He looked out the parlor window and glanced up and down the street. It looked deserted and quiet and with nothing else to do, Passepartout headed upstairs. He walked past Master Fogg and Miss Rebecca's rooms, their lights out and surly asleep by now. When he got to Jules's room, Passepartout found the door was still cracked open and the light was still on.

Passepartout knocked lightly and let himself in. He knew Jules wouldn't mind, they were good friends and Jules would much more prefer that they acted like friends and not care for each other's comfort once in a while.

He found Jules sitting on the bed with his notebook out below a freshly drawn sketch. Passepartout smiled, at least some things never changed.

"Still up, Jules?" Passepartout asked in French. They normally switched back when they were alone, it made it much easier for him to keep up his side of a conversation.

Jules nodded and slid his drawing into his notebook, "Just finishing something up, I'll go to bed soon."

Passepartout nodded as he pulled up the chair from the desk and sat down, "You don't look too good, my friend."

Jules smirked in reply. It was undeniably true. Master Fogg and Miss Rebecca had not commented on it directly to Jules but both of them had said something to him while he was helping them get ready for the night. Not like he needed either of them to point it out though. Jules looked like he had been living at the point of exhaustion for weeks. The black smudges under his eyes seemed almost permanent and his eyes looked a little glazed over like he was floating away every few minutes if he were not engaged in a conversation. And even then it was easy to tell that he wasn't working at his optimal level as his replies were a second too slow and on the monosyllabic side.

"It's nothing to worry about, Passepartout." Jules tried to reassure him, "I've just been preoccupied lately."

"Tell me," Passepartout said lightly, "Does preoccupied mean looking like death warmed over these days?"

Jules fingered his notebook and stared at the bed spread. There was something on his mind, but it seemed like the writer didn't want to speak of it just yet. Instead of pressing him, Passepartout decided to leave him be. Time was sometimes the only thing that can get through to people and it seemed like Jules needed that as well as a good long nap.

"Hmm…well," Passepartout rose and pushed the chair back under the desk. "It's getting pretty late. And Miss Rebecca wants to go shopping tomorrow."

"Then I really should get some sleep." Jules said seriously.

Passepartout nodded gravely, "She'll drag you to the ends of the earth for a matching hat."

"Good night," Jules softly smiled as slipped his notebook under his pillow.

"Good night, my friend, sleep well." Passepartout patted Jules's leg on his way out and turned off the light.

/-/-/-/

AN: Read and review. Please?


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I'm a little slow on the uptake. Just to let you know, I plan to finish this story but I'm going to be in school soon and I'm also positions in a bunch of different things so I might not update in a while. Be patient. :D

/-/-/-/

When he woke up, Phileas did his usual check out the window for any suspicious activity. Looking up and down the street from his bedroom window, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. But when he looked at the townhouse in front of his, he could have sworn he saw a hat disappear behind a chimney on the roof. He continued staring but nothing else happened. He sighed as he closed his curtains and turned away from the window.

The few times that he had tried to run after his stalker, he had been able to find nothing and anyone he questioned only gave him blank stares and confused looks. It was hard to fight against such an unknown. For the past month and a half there had been no attacks, no threats, not even a good look to support what he had been feeling. He was starting to think that he was going mad.

Phileas washed his face in the water bowl left for him and dried off.

His instincts had never lead him astray and he wasn't about to start doubting himself now. But while his instincts told him one story, crystal cold logic was telling him another. It just didn't make sense. Whoever was watching by now must know the move they're going to take, they must have some plan by now, and they couldn't just keep watching him for the rest of their lives. So why didn't they attack? Get on with it!

Passepartout knocked quietly and Phileas muttered for his valet to enter to help him start the day.

Maybe they were trying to drive him insane. It could very well be their plan. Who could he have wronged to make them want him mad? What type of person would want to go through all that trouble only to make him think that he was being followed? It was so anticlimactic that if he weren't in the situation he would be laughing his head off.

"Master?" Passepartout questioned softly as he finished off Phileas's cravat.

"Yes?" Phileas answered as he took one last look at himself in the looking glass.

"I was wondering about Master Jules." Passepartout continued slightly hesitantly.

Phileas nodded in agreement, "He's hiding something. That much I know."

"I am thinking, it has something to do with the last time Jules and Count Gregory met."

Phileas pressed his lips into a thin line. He assumed just as much as his valet had. When he had seen Verne standing in the foyer yesterday he had almost wanted to lead the young man upstairs and drug the writer to sleep. And of course, when Verne woke up Phileas would be at the end of a very long tirade but if it has to do with the boy's last encounter with that monster then…

The League had Verne for almost a week; if Verne had stopped having nightmares altogether of his time there Phileas would be surprised. But when they helped Verne settle back into his garret, the young man had seemed so much better from the bloody and almost comatose form they had found.

/-/-/-/

_He tried to escape; he pulled at his bonds, yanking at them until the scabs on his wrists opened up and started to bleed again. He could feel the hot liquid making a burning pool on the arm rest and around his cold hands._

_There was a voice whispering to him, there always was a voice trying to convince him to let them in, to show them what he saw. He ignored it best he could, but sometimes the pain would get too much and he couldn't put up much a fight then. The only thing he could do was to show them something else. He thought of his childhood, time spent in church, lectures, anything besides the creations in his head. _

"_Come on, Jules," the voice whispered sweetly, "think of something a bit less boring."_

_Jules tried to turn away but he knew he couldn't move his head, he could feel the padded gray metal pressing his head into the cushioned headrest. He had the strange thought that it was odd that they should care so much for his comfort when they were doing such an atrocious thing. His eyes were fixated on the blank circular screen in front of him. Whatever he saw in his head he saw on the screen, it was one of the strangest experiences he ever had. And if it weren't so violating on some intrinsic level which he couldn't exactly describe, he'd be extremely interested in how it worked. _

_An inhuman howl of rage swept though the room. Count Gregory. Hurried, demanding voices, Jules tried to see what was happening behind him but all he could see were shadows playing on the wall in front of him. Then there was a whine, an electronic high pitched whine which meant that the chair was powering up. Jules knew that the pain would come, he braced himself for it. But as always the pain of it sent a shock wave through his entire body. An electric current stinging its way through his very soul, it thrashed him from the inside out. He could feel it sizzling from his stomach, as it burned its way through his heart, and seared into his throat until the only way he could let out a little was to scream-_

Jules woke up gasping for breath, the pain subsiding instantly even though he was sure that his hair was still crackling with left over electricity. He was waiting for his vision to blur out, for the gripping violence that consumed his mind, and for the disappearance of what was actually in front of him but nothing happened. He did his best to slow his breathing down, he was only glad that he hadn't actually screamed or else he would have hell to pay. He didn't want the Foggs and Passepartout to know yet. If he could just get one normal day with them before they knew, he would be so grateful. He just wanted this one day.

He wanted it so that they wouldn't tip toe around him and believe him insane. So that they don't have to worry about him constantly, about whether or not he would hurt himself. He didn't want them to feel guilty for this. He wanted it so that in case they decide that they do not want to deal with him in this state of mind he could at least have one day to remember them by.

Jules sighed and racked his hand through his unruly brown curls. He gave a silent prayer, hoping that his visions wouldn't disrupt this day. It shouldn't be too much to ask for. After everything he had gone though he felt more than justified in having one good day with his friends.

He just had to believe that he would have a good day, maybe all he needed was a positive attitude and his visions won't bother him today. He hoped they wouldn't.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Enjoy. Read and review! seriously... ok, how about please?

/-/-/-/

Chapter 4

She tried not to stare at Jules during breakfast but she couldn't help it. Jules looked as if he hadn't slept at all during the night. The bags under his eyes might have even been a shade lighter last night, for heaven's sake. She tried to get more than a few words out of him, but it was like catching butterflies with chopsticks. Phileas wasn't much help either. Her cousin seemed intent on making things extremely uncomfortable until he found his unknown, and probably nonexistent, stalker. Though the man was reading his daily copy of the Times, he was also getting up every few minutes to look out the dining room window. Every time he did so, Phileas shuffled his papers around and by the end of it made a great mess.

During one of Phileas's longer checks, Jules leaned across the table and asked, "What is Fogg doing? This is about the twentieth time he looked out the windows."

Rebecca quickly explained what Phileas had been going through for the past weeks and in spite of the insanity of it all, she smiled. Jules was out of it, but not so much of touch with reality that he did not notice his friend's distress. "I don't know if I believe him anymore. It might be pure paranoia."

"You think he's going mad?" Jules asked nervously.

Rebecca considered the question and said carefully, "I don't think Phil has ever been completely sane."

Jules grinned at that, "Well, I suppose none of us truly are."

Phileas walked quickly back to the table, saying a soft apology and returning quickly to his newspaper. Jules seemed a little more light hearted since the exchange and was able to engage Phileas and Passepartout in a conversation on some new scientific discovery or another. Rebecca listened and put in her own two bits once in a while, but really it was just nice to have everything back to this semblance of normality, even if it was for a little while. She could tell that this was just the beginning. Whatever was bothering Jules still needed to be rooted out and whatever was with Phileas still needed to be discovered.

She hoped that she could help them. She knew Phileas wasn't too far gone but Jules... Jules had been gone from them for so long that she wasn't exactly sure where he stood anymore. However the concern Jules had for Phileas and the more animated discourse, gave her hope.

/-/-/-/

Passepartout walked next to Jules, holding an assortment of items from various stores. He would be able to unload them on the next block where the coach was parked, but till then he precariously balanced a few of the less breakable items while keeping a tight hold on the others.

The day had progressed well enough and though Jules still looked like he might fall asleep if he sat down, they had a good day. They had gone through many shops, looking at this and that. Things were bought on a whim at times. It seemed like one of those perfect days with the weather warm and sunny. But underneath it, the anxiety was almost tangible.

When they came upon the carriage, Jules offered to help him unload while Master Fogg and Miss Rebecca decided to go into a perfume store. Jules had been holding a few bags and stuck them into the carriage's storage area before taking the more precarious items that Passepartout had a hold on.

"I know you used to be a juggler, my friend." Jules said jokingly, "but this is just plain showing off."

Passepartout smiled, "I like reminding myself of my old tricks is good, it lets me feel a little bit younger."

"You're not that old." Jules commented, "Are you?"

"You'd be surprised," Passepartout laughed as he put in the last few packages. He rearranged a few things to make everything fit more nicely before closing the carriage's door and instructing the driver to wait a bit longer as the Foggs made their last purchase.

When he heard a small gasp from behind him, he turned quickly and found Jules staggering and clutching his head as if he had been struck. Passepartout swiftly grabbed the young man and pulled him into the carriage. With Jules seated, Passepartout did a quick evaluation of his friend but found nothing immediately life threatening. Jules had his eyes tightly screwed shut and his breathing was faster than normal. The writer had his hands to his temples, finger nails clawing and digging in, as if he were trying to hold his brains in.

Passepartout called to him a few times, but was not able to get any sort of response other than a few pain filled moans. Anxiety filled him, he wasn't sure what was wrong or what to do. He had some medical knowledge and a better than average understanding of how people work but that did not mean that he knew what to do. The panic was rising and he still wasn't sure where Master Fogg and Miss Rebecca were. He could run out of the carriage and get them quickly but he didn't want to leave Jules alone, so he called out to the driver and told him to get the Foggs.

"Jules please," Passepartout tried again, "Jules, you're really starting to scare me."

Jules's eyes snapped open and Passepartout almost gave a relieved sigh but before he could Jules started convulsing.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Wow, I didn't know that I would take this long. I've been out traveling the world, but I'm back in the states now, so hopefully there will be more updates as the weeks go by. Thank you so much for the reviews that I have gotten so far, they really make it worth it to keep writing.

/-/-/

Chapter 5

_It always starts and ends the same way. Most of the time it's just bits and pieces that barely make any sense, but over the months, Jules had been able to patch a story together. Like always, it begins with a rush of white blinding light which dulls out everything around him. He has the faint idea that he is clutching at his head trying desperately to stop the sharp needle like pain which shoots from the back of his head and through his eyes. Then as suddenly as it came, it leaves._

_He is in a dark corridor in front of an oak door. Scorched into the wood were the infinity symbol Instead of listening to his instincts and turning around and running as quickly as he can, he slowly pushes open the unlocked door. Walking through the threshold he finds himself in into a lowly lit dungeon. The dungeon is circular in design, the main chamber being easily viewable by the surrounding cells. _

_Most of the cells are empty but the one straight across from the oak door holds a single person who sits huddled against the back of the cell. Walking closer Jules notices that the person is a kid, a little boy, no more than eight. As he approaches, the boy makes no sign that he even notices Jules's existence. Jules taps on the bars, Jules hears the sound but the boy doesn't even glance up from the dirty cobblestone floor. Jules opens his mouth intending to say anything to get the kid's attention but at that moment, the oak door bangs open. _

_Surprised, Jules jumps backwards so fast that he bumps into the cell bars. He readies for them to make a move and capture him but everyone seems to look right through him. The boy finally looks up at the door and as he does Jules is struck speechless. The boy's eyes, they were so very, very familiar. Honey brown eyes, so sweet and innocent. The innocence throws Jules off, but only for a moment. The boy rushes the bars and clutches onto them as they're his only link to the outside world. _

_The boy doesn't speak but watches in quiet terror as two burly men drag in a woman followed by a third man. The two men holding the women were in matching dark shirts and work pants but the man who walked in after them wore a Russian military uniform. Looking back and forth between the boy and the woman, it is clearly visible that they are related and most likely mother and son._

Everything distorts for a moment. The colors swishing around as if he is free falling uncontrollably into an unknown depth while a dull roar fills his ears until it blossoms into a fierce thundering volley. Through it all he tries to figure out what is happening, he concentrates trying to pull himself out of the dizzying wreckage of his mind but each time he tries he only gets the fuzzy image of a machine. At first, he only sees the parts. Circuitry and shiny metal. Then everything blurs together and for a second he is nowhere.

_The vision smears back into existence. The colors bleeding back into their shapes and Jules stumbles with the stomach-churning effects. _

_The men threw the woman to the ground and pull her back onto her knees, showing her the boy in the cell. _

_Jules knows by now that he can't make a difference in the vision, it was the past. It had already happened and no matter how much he screamed and tried to charge at them, it was no use. There was nothing he could do. But he never can stop the horror or rising indignation of what happened next. _

"_We do not make empty threats." the uniformed man says with a hint of a Russian accent. "Do you want him to die?"_

"_Mum?" the little boy gasps but other than that he makes no other movement, still pressing up against the dirty bars._

_Even in the darkest visions, where the light only gives Jules shadows that meld together and break apart, Jules always saw her eyes light up in rage, "There is truly no level you will not sink to."_

"_We do what we must." The man replies evenly as he pulls out his pistol and checks that it is loaded. "What is your answer?"_

_The man points the gun at the boy and the boy scrambles back until he is up against the wall of the cell. Even from where Jules stood, he can tell that the boy's breathing is frantic and shallow. _

" _Mum!" The boy yells again. _

"_You have another son." the man chuckles at this, "Perhaps we took the wrong one."_

_The woman makes no reply; instead she struggles with her captors. Bucking and fighting, a few times she almost throws them off her. _

"_No matter," the Russian says lightly, "we can always get the other one after we finish."_

His vision blurs out again, but this time, Jules is prepared for it and he finds himself seeing more of the creation than before. A flat metallic ring gleams stands upright under the dirty yellow florescent lights. His vision follows the metal, arching up and around before settling on something next to the base of the ring. A rectangular box sits there with gleaming switches and buttons, and Jules assumes that the waist high counter as the controls. Before he can study the machine further, his vision suddenly swirls and Jules closes his eyes, hoping to lessen the dizziness of the whole experience.

_When his world stops swirling, Jules cracks open his eyes. _

_The woman continues to wiggle trying to get her hands free as a growl rises from the back of her throat. Jules feels her pure anger and fear. It shoots through him so strongly, the emotions mixing and swirling around him so much that he feels drunk with it. _

_The man takes aim and fires._

_As always it ends in a rush of images. So mashed up together it was hard to tell what was mundane from the insanity. They start up slow and quiet but they quickly get out of control. He sees so many things, ships and buildings. Towers made of glass. Horseless carriages and gadgets. Machinery which make no sense except in an abstract way. They screeched at him from beyond time and space, waiting for him to find them._

_/-/-/_

Read and review. Please.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Apparently being back didn't help so much. College is such a busy time. :] But please read and review. It gives me a reason to keep writing, just knowing that someone out there is waiting on me.

/-/-/-/-/

Chapter 6

They ushered Verne into the townhouse and up the stairs to his guest room. Once he was settled, Phileas asked Passepartout to call the doctor. Passepartout was half way through the door when Verne decided to speak.

"N-No, wa-wait." The writer stuttered, "Please, I don't-don't need a doc-tor."

"Jules," Rebecca said softly, remembering the way the crimson liquid dribbled down Jules's nose and leaking onto his shirt when the seizure stopped, "there was so much blood-"

"I know," Verne interrupted, "I know, jus-just please. I-I'll be al-all right. Please, no doctor."

"Verne," Phileas tried, "as a friend, I cannot in good conscious forgo a doctor. I assure you, I'll pay for the expen-"

"Fogg, ple-please." Verne all but begged, "No doctor."

Rebecca heard Phileas sigh softly but didn't turn around to watch her cousin leave the room. She had seen the slight widening of his eyes and could almost taste the fear that filled Phileas when he had seen their friend. There was going to be no question about the presence of medical staff.

-/-

He was shaking, he knew he was but he couldn't stop it. It was all so out of his control: the stutter in his voice, the trembling, and the terrible coldness which wouldn't get out of his bones. He knew it was too much to ask of Fogg to do without a doctor. But he wanted to try. He really didn't need medical personnel telling his friends that he belonged in a mad house.

It was too much to ask for on a normal day, but he had to try anyways. Fogg had gone downstairs to wait for the doctor. Passepartout followed out a few minutes later to make some tea and get together some food. All the while, Rebecca sat on the chair next to his bed.

He knew that they would not want to leave him alone after that. The vision had just taken over, it was never gradual to begin with but now it was almost cuttingly sudden. Moreover, it wasn't about the future anymore. He wasn't sure what he was seeing; it was more than just machines and buildings. There were people. He never had visions involving people he didn't personally know before. He wasn't sure what that meant.

"What's happening to you Jules?" Rebecca asked softly. In that tone of voice, Jules knew that he couldn't deny her entrance. If their places were reversed, Jules would desperately want to know if there was anything that he could do. He couldn't fault her for being his friend. She was trying to help him.

He shifted up and turned to face Rebecca. He slowly reached for his journal and flipped to the page that held his sketch, licking his lips nervously he thought about where to begin. They knew that he had been in Gregory's company for about a week. They knew what he endured: the questions, the torture, the chair… but what they didn't know was what it all had done to his mind. His friends knew that the League had been breaking down the barriers in his head but not of the possibility that the League had succeeded. And they especially did not know of this latest development.

-/-/

Aurora is the Roman Goddess of dawn; she announced the arrival of the sun and the promise of a new day. The baron had named the airship after her because the baron had known that the airship announce the arrival of a new adventure. Passepartout knew that it was fitting. Aurora meant so many good things: light and discovery and a fresh start.

'They called it the Aurora Chair' Jules had told them in an empty hollow voice. Passepartout could see the similarity. He could see how the League saw the chair as something that brought them light and discovery. But the chair also brought pain and suffering. Aptly named but at the same time 'Aurora' had none of the same connotation. None of the warmth.

'They kept digging in my head.' Jules hadn't talked about it much, in fact Jules had only spoken about it if he were questioned directly and even then the responses were terse. They hadn't wanted to force him, afraid if they did he might break. But Passepartout knew that because they hadn't forced Jules and with Jules's sudden disappearance back to France, the young man hadn't told anyone much more than the basic facts. 'They brought back the past, it was like living it all over.'

It takes more than just time to heal wounds, Passepartout knew this well. Sure time could dull the pain, dull it until it was completely numb but the wounded area never feels the same as it had before. Jules needed to talk about it, put it out in the open. If Jules could just share the burden then he would get much better.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: It's been too long. Well, I can't say that I don't try. I just have a rule that if I don't have the next chapter and a half up, I can't put up this chapter. That and I've been incredibly busy, I may not seem like much but I do a lot of volunteer work.

By the way, in the hopes of me actually focusing on writing this story, can anyone point me in the direction of a beta reader?

I'm new to the beta reader thing, but I'd love to have someone help me edit/constructively criticize/come up with awesome ideas that I'd steal and not give you any credit for (jk, I'd totally give you credit!). Not sure how this beta thing happens though. I think ff has some sort of program; I'll look into it after I post this.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Chapter 7

Rebecca sat still; her fingers playing with the material of her dark blue dress.

"Normally, I only get little parts of story but this time..." Jules said. "I'm not sure. I think…I think something bad is going to happen."

Rebecca did not get the chance to reply as a knock came on the door. Passepartout walked in first and held the door for a man in a suit carrying a leather hand bag who was then followed by Phileas. Rebecca stood up quickly and greeted the doctor with a curtsey.

"Ah, Miss Fogg," the doctor smiled and kissed her hand before turning to look at Jules with a nod. "Mr. Verne."

Rebecca knew she was going to be asked to step out, so she excused herself before they could ask her to leave.

If what Jules had said was true, then the doctor was going to be of no help. She made her way to her room and sat down on her bed. Thinking it over, she knew of nothing of a machine as the one that Jules had sketched out. But that didn't mean it that it doesn't exist.

Quickly making up her mind and making sure that she still had Jules's sketch, Rebecca hurried downstairs. Four in the afternoon wasn't exactly late, and though it would be a bit of a hassle, Rebecca didn't want to wait until tomorrow morning. Grabbing her coat and leaving a scrawled message on the kitchen counter, where Passepartout would surely find it, she went out the door.

-/-

"In summary," the doctor sighed clearly unsure and unhappy about his diagnosis, "Mr. Verne is exhausted and undernourished."

"Nothing a bowl of soup and good night's rest can't fix." Phileas said, sarcasm slighting coloring his voice.

The doctor nodded, "There's nothing more I can do for him."

Phileas had almost expected as much once Rebecca mentioned Jules's vision, but he had hoped that there would have been anything that medicine could fix. That would make things so much simpler. Instead, Phileas bowed his head in acceptance and walked the doctor to the door.

A frown crossed Phileas's brow, "And the seizure?"

"I cannot determine the cause, it could possibly be stress," the doctor put on his hat, "just remember to keep things out of the way if he has another one."

"Thank you for coming on short notice."

The doctor put on his coat, "I'm sorry I can't do more."

Phileas opened his front door, walked the doctor out to his coach, and watched as the driver closed the maroon polished door. As the coach left and turned the corner, Phileas stared after it. There had to be something more, anything that he could do. With a sigh, Fogg turned back and started for his house.

Suddenly, he felt it. A slight tingle in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand: someone was watching. Instantly alert, Fogg made a swift circle looking for any changes that could point out the danger. He could feel it, like the hum of electricity in the air during a thunderstorm. But he couldn't pin down where the danger was from.

Fogg slipped his pistol from his coat and with a quick twist of his wrist a knife slid smoothly into his left hand. Other than an old couple taking an evening stroll on the other side of the street, he saw no one out of the ordinary. Looking to the rooftops, he scanned them and by a miracle he caught the end of cloak just as it disappeared behind the chimney of the townhouse across from his. He quickly took aim in that direction and a few seconds later in the small pathway that separated the townhouse from the next townhouse, Fogg caught a shadow. Just as it raised its arm towards him, Fogg sensed the gunshot more than anything else.

He ducked down just as he heard the loud crack.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

"Come on, Jules." Passepartout held out a bowl of soup balanced on a tray. "At least try to eat a little."

"Fine," Jules groaned. "But if I throw up, you're cleaning it."

Passepartout chuckled. "So no repercussions?"

That earned a grin from the young man. Passepartout placed the tray on Jules's lap, and then sat down in the chair next to the bed.

Jules took a few hesitant sips as Passepartout watched him.

"Once you eat a little, you'll feel better." Passepartout said, as if he was convincing himself rather than Jules. "You'll see, I promise."

Jules nodded absently. He would eat if it would put Passepartout's mind at ease.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Passepartout asked. A long moment of silence stretched.

Just as Jules opened his mouth to answer, a gunshot broke into their conversation. The last thing Jules saw before his vision filled with the all too familiar white was Passepartout springing towards the window.

_ "No!" The woman screeches, struggling uselessly against the guards holding her. Her terror spikes up and her helplessness is like a second skin to Jules but then she realizes that the man had missed. Her boy is still alive and safe and whole._

_The man kneels down to stare her in the eyes; he presses the barrel of the gun at her throat, so smoldering hot that it leaves a small burn on her pale skin. "The next one will not miss."_

_She looks like she wants to bite his head off, murder him and bring him back to life only to kill him once more. But instead she takes a deep breath and grounds. "Spain."_

_The man makes a motion to one of his men. The man takes his own pistol and checks that it is loaded before pointing it at the boy._

_Her breath involuntarily hitches at the end as she spits at them, "It's hidden in Granada."_

_The man does not seem satisfied with the answer but seems like he does seem to be satisfied with the answer for now. With a grunt he motions for the minions to throw the woman into the cell with the boy and he stalks off out of the dungeon._

- This is where the vision usually ends. Drops off into a rush of things that Jules cannot comprehend but instead -

_She seemed to use the momentum and turn it into a sort of grace as she lunges towards her little boy and quickly sweeps him into an embrace. With a relived sigh she murmurs to him soothingly, "Phileas."_

_/-/-/-/-/_

AN: R&R And if you're at all interested in betaing (is that a word?) message me.


End file.
